


Like Father Like Son

by Nievia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: (as in McCree was adopted by Gabriel), (if there are any issues with those please let me know), Abandonment, Abandonment Issues, Angst, Bandits & Outlaws, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Deadlock Gang, Death, Depression, Explicit Language, Father-Son Relationship, Gore, Guns, I'm not sorry for all of this pain I'm gonna put you through, Implied/Referenced Adoption, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, M/M, Mentee, Non-Shipping Fic, Overwatch - Freeform, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Prosthetics, Regrets, Resurrection, Self-Doubt, Slight Body Dysphoria, Spanish, Spanish Translations, Underage Drinking, Unlife, Violence, Weapons, deadeye - Freeform, deadlock - Freeform, mentor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:12:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nievia/pseuds/Nievia
Summary: Captain Reyes had always been jealous of his husband’s position, especially after being the leader of Overwatch before the strike-commander was officially announced by the UN all those years ago. Just before the cowboy had left, it had turned into something else. It was as if someone had planted a seed in Gabriel’s mind, pushed the idea that Jack wanted everything to happen as it had instead of it being a rather unhappy accident. Jesse regretted that he didn’t do anything to tell his captain otherwise.Father-son relationship between Jesse McCree and Gabriel Reyes.





	1. Deadeye

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm so sorry this is so angsty (but really I'm not). This was written for a friend (and I feel bad for making it so sad but... oh well).  
> Anyways, I hope you like this!  
> I do have some Spanish translations, but if there is anything wrong with them or if they're incorrect, please let me know!  
> This chapter was beta read by my beautiful girlfriend [gingerthesnap](http://gingerthesnap.tumblr.com)  
> Thanks for reading!

When Jack asked him to talk to the Deadlock member they’d captured, he hadn’t mentioned that the gangster was a _child_. Gabriel Reyes gawked from the other side of one-way glass, taking in the boy’s hunched form. He couldn’t be older than fifteen, and yet the way he held himself was anything but childish. His hair was rugged, sticking up in some places, matted with blood in others. His right eye was swollen and black, his lip split, but his injuries didn’t dampen the fury of his glare. Gabe frowned; he would have to have a talk with Jack’s people if they were treating a kid this way, gangster or no.

Scanning the boy once more, he compared the picture in the file to reality. He was thinner, had wilder eyes, but was very much the same person.

> **Name:** McCree, Jesse  
>  **Alias:** Deadeye  
>  **Age:** 14  
>  **Weight:** 98lbs. (44.5 kg)  
>  **Height:** 5’6”  
>  **Sex:** M  
>  **Race/Nationality:** Mexican-American  
>  **Affiliation(s):** Deadlock Gang  
>  **Family:** Unknown

_Underfed, underestimated, caught in the wrong crowd._ Gabriel stared at the boy in the picture, decked out in leather, a scowl on his face, and brown eyes narrowed at the camera. _Tough guy,_ Gabe thought, _gotta be to survive with those kinds of people._ And yet there was something else; a hunger, a flash in those eyes that caught Gabriel’s attention. _Not bad,_ he closed the file, _just misguided._ He dropped the manilla folder on the table and hummed pensively before entering the interrogation room.

The kid’s eyes followed him; calculating, angry, _afraid._ He didn’t speak when the captain of Blackwatch stood next to the table he was chained to. Both eyed each other for a long moment until Gabriel motioned to the chair across from Deadeye.

His voice broke the cold silence that built in the room. “May I sit?”

Deadeye shifted in his seat, handcuffs rattling against the table. He sniffed indignantly, turned his face away, and spat. “Don’t matter to me where you decide to put your ass,” his accent was thick and southern, the twang ringing in each word.

Gabe sat, clasped his hands together in front of him, and stared. Deadeye stared back, glowering at the captain through his blackened eye and bruised facade. There was a hatred there, burning, angry, and fresh. A new wound, one that would take time to heal.

Gabriel considered his words carefully before finally speaking, “Hit me,” he said.

Deadeye blinked and the angry mask slipped, “Pardon?”

“You’re pissed, I can take it. _Hit me,_ ”

The outlaw scanned the ridges of the captain’s face and the scars that marred his skin. He scoffed, “You’re jus’ gon’ set me up. I ain’t dumb, _cabrón,_ ”

“Then you know we won’t get anywhere until you blow off some steam,” Gabe paused, “I won’t say anything if you just give me the information I need.”

“Like I’ll tell you shit.”

Gabriel held up the magnetic key to the cuffs, waved it, kept eye contact with Deadeye, “I think you will. Now, I’m going to unlock those cuffs, you’re gonna hit me, and we’re gonna get down to business. _Comprende_?”

Deadeye stared him down, letting the tense moment pass. “ _Comprendo,_ ” he grunted.

The captain grabbed the teenager’s wrist in one hand, hid the surprise when he felt how _thin_ it was, and swiped the card to release the locks. The metal cuffs dropped with a clang onto the table. Gabriel slowly released the boy’s arm.

Deadeye shrank back, rubbing his chafed wrists. He wiped a small stripe of blood from his cheek, ran his tongue over the split in his lip, his nostrils flaring from the sting. “Ya sure about this?”

Leaning forward, elbows pressed into the cold surface of the interrogation table, Gabriel nodded.

The only warning the captain had was a savage snarl, a flash of skin and wild brown hair as the outlaw pounced. His fist swung for the captain’s face, but it went wide, and Gabriel shifted so it hit him in the shoulder with a meaty _thunk._

“Sonofabitch!” Deadeye yowled, throwing another punch, missing Gabe’s face and hitting his chest, “You killed ‘em, you fuckin’ _killed_ ‘em! That fuckin’ gang was all I had and the _feds_ got ‘em!”

Gabriel let the boy wear himself out until he was panting. He glared at Gabriel with dark eyes, crouched on the table, looking poised and dangerous and so young.

Deadeye sniffled and it was only then Gabe realized the kid was actually crying. He whimpered when salty tears ran into the cuts on his cheeks, quickly rubbed them away, tried to bring up his scowl once more, but it was wavering now. Gabriel let him cry, hide his face behind his hands, hit him weakly again, and finally sit miserably on the tabletop. Deadeye wiped his nose, stared past the captain, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Feeling any better?”

There was no reply save for a sniffle.

“Sit in the chair, I’ll be right back,”

Deadeye grumbled, “The hell are you going?”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him.

“Fine, but I ain’t movin’.”

The captain shrugged, turned, and left Deadeye to his devices, making sure to lock the door just in case. _Losing my edge. Didn’t even question him._ He winced, sighed. _But damn it, even gangsters need to eat._ He repeated that over and over like a mantra, using it as his excuse instead of facing the odd clench in his chest, the idea of taking the kid under his wing rather than letting him rot in a cell somewhere. He pushed it all away; _even gangsters need to eat._

The Watchpoint’s kitchens were well stocked, and Gabriel had little trouble hastily preparing _arroz con pollo_ and grabbing two beers from the fridge. He kept thinking about how the outlaw had hit him, the tears no doubt burning the cuts on his face, stinging his blackened eye. Swollen eyes, split lip, broken soul, and only _fourteen_ for chrissake.

When the captain returned to the interrogation room, Deadeye was sprawled across the table, face-up, gazing at the ceiling. The smell of food filling the metal chamber was what made him sit up. He eyed the plate of freshly prepared chicken and rice, then Gabe’s face, as if he expected the captain to tell him it was all a joke, to refuse him his meal.

Deadeye turned his nose up at the plate, lip curling, “I ain’t hungry,” he said.

The gurgle of his stomach said otherwise.

Gabriel held back a smile.

Deadeye scowled, snatched the plate from Gabe’s hand, and hopped off of the table to settle back down in his chair. He sniffed at the food, tentative, before taking a small bite. He paused, blinking as if surprised, and then practically shovelled the rest into his mouth.

Gabriel once again staved off a smile and took a seat. _Gangsters have to eat._ It looked like the kid hadn’t eaten properly in days, months, perhaps _years._ He ate wolfishly, a dog devouring its prey. He was a boy lost to gunpowder and firefights, a boy that Gabriel could, perhaps, help. Deadeye finished, pushed his plate away, burped, and slumped back into his chair. The captain slid the beer over to him.

Deadeye’s eyebrows rose, “Y’know I’m fourteen, right?”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel leaned against the table. “It’s just us. Besides, I don’t think Deadlock much cared about enforcing the drinking age either.”

Shrugging, Deadeye took the bottle, read the label, and twisted the cap off. He took a long drink, smacking his lips when he was done. “What do you want from me, then?”

Gabriel made up his mind. “Wanted to strike a deal,”

”Must be a shitty one if you’re butterin’ me up like this,” Jesse said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “So what is it? Cache locations? Names of my friends? Money? ‘Cause you can bet your ass they’re bein’ real careful after that mission went south. I won’t be much use to ya.”

“Any intel you have will work.”

Deadeye watched him, suddenly wary, “Right…” he paused, tapped his fingers on the half-empty beer bottle in his hand, “What the hell kinda deal’re you tryin’ to make with me, exactly?”

 _Oh, Jack is going to be_ pissed. “It’s simple: you get your life, a roof over your head, a job, maybe even some friends.”

Deadeye hummed, “Ain’t nothin’ for free. What do you and yours get outta this?”

Gabe twisted the cap off of his own beer, took a slow swig, savoring the heady taste. Deadeye scowled at him all the while.

“You work for me, train under me. Become a member of Blackwatch.”

A pause; a lull in the conversation as the outlaw took it in, and then laughter. Long, and loud, bouncing off the walls of the interrogation room. The captain of Blackwatch waited, head in his hand, forcing his eyes to go blank, his lips to purse in a hard line.

Snorting one final laugh, Deadeye leaned forward, grinning like a madman. “You want me, a wanted criminal, to join _you_?” He laughed again, “You killed my people, ruined my livelihood and you want me to _join_?” He took a drink from his beer, licked his lips.

Gabriel shrugged, hiding disappointment with nonchalance, “I assume they call you Deadeye for a reason. Besides,” he smirked, teeth flashing, a simultaneously dangerous and amused expression forcibly rising on his face. His Blackwatch was showing, his walls came back up. He was Captain Reyes again. “Blackwatch is already full of misfits. No one’s gonna bat an eye as long as you stay in line.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll hear from me, _niño_.”

Deadeye scowled, “I _ain’t_ a kid.”

“You gonna take the deal or not?”

The outlaw hummed, bounced his leg a few times scratched the stubble on his cheek. He winced when he reopened a cut, and then settled for staring at Gabriel. “‘Spose I didn’t have much of a life in Deadlock,” he laughed. “Or a livelihood, for that matter. Alright, _jefe_ , I’ll bite.

Gabriel was smiling before he could stop it, “Good,” he said, “I look forward to working with you, Deadeye.”

The new recruit took his hand, shook firmly, grinned back, “Call me McCree,”


	2. Calibrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse has never been good at taking care of himself, much to Gabriel Reyes' annoyance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Here is chapter two <3 I've been sitting on this for a few weeks now. My beta only got to half of it but I'm going to post it anyways, so if you see any grammatical issues or just glaring errors (hopefully there are none of those, as I've looked at this chapter more than a few times myself) please let me know!  
> Thank you for reading~

“McCree!”

Jesse turned at the sound of Captain Reyes’ voice, holding his right hand against his left arm to pause the subtle twitches and shakes. It felt off, awkward, uncalibrated since the last mission he ran with his boss. This happened often since he’d joined Blackwatch and lost his arm. But Angela was off on a mission of her own, and so the gunslinger was left to deal with the annoyance of a malfunctioning prosthetic.

When he first lost his arm, it had left a strange emptiness in him, sometimes phantom pain or sometimes simply forgetting it wasn’t there anymore. But Gabriel Reyes had helped him through it, watched over him along with Dr. Ziegler, let him adjust. Yet, lo and behold, here he was again.

The captain had that look on his face, the one he got when recruits were misbehaving or when McCree was, yet again, in trouble. He strode towards the cowboy, like a creature stalking its prey, holding a small, opaque plastic box in his hands.

Jesse tipped his hat and gave his boss a charming smile, “Howdy, y’need somethin’ from me?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “More the other way around, _cabrón_ ,” he nodded towards the prosthetic, “Your arm isn’t calibrated.”

McCree shuffled his feet, smiling guiltily, “Well, well, well, seems like you do care about me, _jefe_.”

Huffing, the captain nudged McCree’s side with the edge of the box, “Don’t change the subject, I just don’t want you getting rusty before the next mission.”

The young gunslinger rolled his eyes, “Sure thing, _dad_.”

Gabe punched him in the side, but Jesse could see the beginning of a smile on his face, “Alright, alright. Let’s get that arm fixed up.”

They sat in the area in the back of the training room, surrounded by the various weapons used for recruits to practice with. Various agents (old, new, and upcoming) nodded at them as they passed by, but let the Captain and his protege go about their business. McCree propped his feet up on a nearby table and rolled up his sleeve to reveal his prosthetic while Gabriel began to open the small kit that held all the items needed to recalibrate his arm.

He motioned for Jesse to move closer, holding a small syringe in his hand. He prodded at the skin just above the prosthetic with his fingers before injecting him with the needle. McCree scowled as numbness took over what was left of his right arm, shivering.

Gabriel carefully placed the needle back in its place in the kit after cleaning it, and picked up a small screwdriver. Jesse watched him take off the plating systematically, saw the wires and metal and rubber that connected to his nerves and allowed him to move it. He swallowed thickly, watched Gabriel put gloves on, and reach into the limb, and Jesse had to look away.

Vaguely, McCree felt the captain poking around. It was a dulled sensation, even moreso with the injection, but it always made him sick to his stomach. He always imagined it was his real arm. Flesh and blood. He could see it now, Gabriel pressing his fingers in, shifting veins, pushing through muscle, blood squelching under his touch.

He wanted to vomit. He leaned away from Captain Reyes, turned his head, tried to keep the bile down.

“You alright?” Gabriel asked.

“Nah,” he grunted, “Hate gettin’ calibrated. Feels _wrong_ , y’know?”

Gabriel hummed, but didn’t say anything. Jesse closed his eyes, focused on the sounds of recruits coming in and out and the vague thrum of pulse munitions. He wondered if the Strike-Commander was training with the newbies again.

Gabriel clicked something back into place within Jesse’s arm and the cowboy shuddered at the feel of nerves connecting, correcting themselves now that the wires and metal was nudged back into place by a careful touch. The captain slowly removed his hand, stained with the grease and oil that kept McCree’s prosthetic up and running, and then re-applied the oils in the needed spaces.

“Don’t gotta do all that, Captain.”

He scoffed, “It’ll wear down faster if I don’t. Now shut up and let me finish fixing it,”

Pressing the plating that covered the inside of McCree’s prosthetic, Gabriel clicked everything back into place, tightened a few screws, and then wiped some excess grease from the metal. He scowled at the grime that was in between the plates.

“Clean yourself up. That arm’s disgusting.”

McCree smiled and tipped his hat with his freshly-calibrated hand, “Sure thing,”

Gabriel swatted at him, scowling, but he looked oddly pleased with himself. McCree stood up, flexed his metal fingers in an attempt to get the feeling back into them as the injection wore off. “You up for a little sparring?”

Gabriel smirked, “If it means I get to beat you up in front of the recruits, I’m in, _hijo_.”

“Aww, so I _am_ like a son to you.”

Gabriel’s face flushed a brilliant red. He scowled. “I adopted you, dumbass. Now, shut up and get to the sparring area.”

Laughing, McCree made his way out of the seating area, “Whatever you say, padre,” he teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translations*  
> Cabrón -- bastard  
> Jefe -- boss  
> Hijo -- son  
> Padre -- father
> 
> Want to send a prompt? Want to support your local fanfic author? Go to my [tumblr](http://nievia-writes.tumblr.com) and hit me up! <3


	3. Jefe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse McCree has left Overwatch... but things change while he is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning that this chapter is really angsty and does involve some character death.  
> But! Thanks for reading and supporting me <3 I hope you enjoy this chapter despite the pain.

He left before it happened. Blackwatch was becoming too much, Gabriel was slowly going mad, and McCree had left. _What a goddamn coward_ , he thought to himself, watching the news flash on the TV screen in the hotel room. The Swiss Watchpoint was fucked, Overwatch had fallen, Talon had gotten a hold of Blackwatch and all Jesse could do was sit around and watch.

When the names began scrolling down the screen, listing the dead and injured, Jesse leaned forward. He saw a few he recognized; other agents he had encountered while working, but none he felt any particular emotion towards (as cold as it sounded). He looked for Fareeha’s name, for Jack and Angela. It never occurred to him to look for Gabriel’s. _Tough son of a bitch wouldn’t die. Not from something like that._

But all he could think about was the wild expression Gabriel had taken to just before McCree left. The way he began mumbling to himself, hiding plans, sending Jesse on missions that didn’t have anything to do with the Omnic Crisis or the rising threat of an organization known as “Talon”.

_“It’s Jack’s fault. I should be the Strike-Commander, I should be the leader of Overwatch.”_

Jesse frowned, scratched his beard. 

_“Y’know it ain’t Jack’s fault, jefe.”_

He lit a cigarillo and took a puff, got lost reminiscing.

_A scoff as Gabriel leaned back against his desk, “What, you turning on me too? After all we’ve been through?”_

Flicking some ash off of the tip of his cigarillo, Jesse chased the away the memory. Captain Reyes had always been jealous of his husband’s position, especially after being the leader of Overwatch before the strike-commander was officially announced by the UN all those years ago. Just before the cowboy had left, it had turned into something else. It was as if someone had planted a seed in Gabriel’s mind, pushed the idea that Jack wanted everything to happen as it had instead of it being a rather unhappy accident. Jesse regretted that he didn’t do anything to tell his captain otherwise.

Sometimes Jesse wondered where Gabriel went during all those missions he ran by himself, wondered if he was captured like that sniper had been. Brainwashed and left to do the dirty work. Jesse made a note to ask Gabriel about it next time they met up. _If there is a next time._

Turning his attention back to the television, he saw the final strain of names rolling in. Jesse McCree nearly inhaled his cigarillo when he saw it, passing languidly with all the names as if it was just that simple. _Gabriel Reyes, deceased._ He choked. The room spun; Jesse could feel his heart beat into his throat. _No, no. He can’t be dead._ Jesse laughed, a bit madly. Gabriel wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. The bastard was practically immortal, he wouldn’t let an explosion get him. _He’s too damn stubborn to die, too damn--_

Vaguely, he felt himself stumbling towards the telephone next to the cheap bed. Blood roared in his ears, and he felt the strange sensation of being outside of his own body. Jesse could almost see himself, scrambling on the floor to reach the cheap plastic telephone on the bedside table, like he was floating above the room rather than inside of his own body. He dialed the only person he could think that would know what was going on.

“C’mon, you dumb bastard, pick up.”

The phone rang and rang until Jesse was trembling, cigarillo falling on the carpet and leaving a harsh burn mark to fit in among the others that scattered the floor.

There was no answer from Jack Morrison. He left a message, if only for the tradition of it, then dialed someone else. No answer from Angela, either.

Finally, holding the phone in a shaking hand, heart shuddering in his chest, he dialed once more.

The line picked up; there was silence.

“ _Jefe_?” He asked, unable to stop his voice from quaking.

It sounded like cloth was moving against the receiver, scratching at Jesse’s ears, a slow and torturous noise that left him shuddering. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Please, please, tell me you’re alive. C’mon, don’t leave me hangin’, alright? I know I up an’ left ya but please, I saw what happened at the Swiss HQ and I--”

Loud crackling sounded, like meat sizzling over a fire, or like he had switched the TV to a wrong channel. Jesse had to steel himself to continue holding the phone up to his ear.

“Goddammit, Gabe! Y’ can’t die on me, just answer the fuckin’ phone.”

There was a faint whisper, a clamor, a soft, agonized scream. Jesse called out for his _jefe_ , for the man who had become his father-figure. The line went dead.

“Fuck you, Gabriel, fuck _you_!”

The room was eerily quiet after that, save for the woman on the TV reporting on the Watchpoint. McCree turned it off with a click on the remote, cradling the phone to his chest.

When he tried to sleep that night, all he could hear was that crackling, that scream. The only words in his dreams were lines and lines of the same phrase, over and over again. _Gabriel Reyes, deceased. Gabriel Reyes, deceased. Gabriel Re--_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translations*  
> Jefe -- boss
> 
> Want to send a prompt? Want to support your local fanfic author? Go to my [tumblr](http://nievia-writes.tumblr.com) and hit me up! <3


	4. Recall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jesse decides whether to rejoin Overwatch, a ghost visits him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! This is the last chapter of this little mini-series and I hope you liked it.  
> I always have fun writing for Jesse and Gabe, so I had an especially good time writing this fic.  
> Thank you so much for all of your support and for reading!! <3

McCree had failed to respond to the initial recall of Overwatch. Instead he kept the message pulled up on his phone to torture himself while he thought of the good old times. Running missions with Blackwatch, laughing with Angela, Torbjorn and Genji over silly stories, training with Reinhardt in the weight room, and shooting with Gabriel. But to recall something he had run away from? To return to a group he had abandoned?

Jesse had been on the run for far too long to feel comfortable with the idea of settling. Bounty hunting and other odd jobs had put a price on his head, left him homeless, friendless, and _isolated_. McCree gnawed on his lower lip anxiously just thinking about it.

At night, he would lie awake in bed listening for assassins, other bounty hunters looking to collect, or, the worst-case scenario, as he liked to call it, Talon agents. Sliding his metal hand under his pillow, he felt for his phone next to Peacekeeper and gripped it. His prosthetic was grimy and worn down from lack of care, left in desperate need of calibrations. But he ignored it and unlocked his phone to watch the Overwatch symbol glow and spin on the screen instead of letting it bother him too much.

> _Recalling all agents to project: Overwatch on orders of Strike-Commander Winston._
> 
> _Respond?_
> 
> _Yes      No_

Running his thumb on the edge of the screen, he let his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness and wondered if it was real. It could just be some elaborate plan to get him out of his safehouse and into the hands of some hungry bounty hunters or angry Talon agents. He hadn’t exactly been the nicest of people after leaving Blackwatch; he had simply done what he had to do to survive. And where had that got him? On the run, alone, deciding whether or not the recall of Overwatch was false, whether or not it was worth it.

What would he do if it wasn’t? He would finally get to see Angela and Tracer and maybe even Genji again. It would be a fresh start in a familiar place. He let his finger hover over the “yes” for a long moment before he heard a soft _thump_ from the other side of his room. In a second, Peacekeeper was in his hand, pointed in the direction of the sound, blankets falling off of his torso and exposing his top half to the cool air.

Nothing but darkness greeted him. The Overwatch symbol still spun on his phone screen, slow and taunting, making it harder for him to see in the low light of the bedroom. But it was unusually dark, wasn’t it? Had he stayed up later than he thought? Insomnia wasn’t something he was unused to, but this felt somehow… different. The shadows in the corner of the bedroom seemed to be almost moving, curling around themselves, undulating like they were _breathing_.

Chills ran up Jesse’s spine, the hair on the back of his neck rose, gooseflesh bubbled on his skin. The room felt suddenly, disturbingly cold, like someone had left the refrigerator door open overnight. He sat very still, Peacekeeper glittering and reflecting the spinning Overwatch symbol.

The shadows made a low, crackling noise, and Jesse froze. It was eerily close to the sound he had heard over the phone, those years ago, when he found out that Gabriel Reyes was dead, when he had called and he thought his boss answered. He waited for the scream, for the sound of agony that he heard in his dreams every now and then, but only silence greeted him.

“Ingrate…” The word was broken; a pained whisper in the room.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” Jesse spat back, ignoring the pang that the nickname brought back, the flashes of scars and training and missions that came with one simple word.

It released something close to a laugh, shadows curling, wrapping around themselves, forming _something_ in the dark. “ _Hijo_ ,” it said, and then stepped into the light.

Jesse’s breath left his lungs with a violent _whoosh_. In front of him stood Gabriel Reyes, or what was left of him. Scarred, ashen, skin peeling off of bones and flesh dripping only to turn into thick, black mist around his form. His eyes were deep red, cutting through the shadows in the room. Peacekeeper fell into the cowboy’s lap as he gawked, wide-eyed, at his boss.

“What’s wrong, McCree?” A grin spread across Gabriel’s face, “You didn’t miss me?”

Jesse blinked. His chest felt tight, his eyes burned, his prosthetic hand twitched. “ _Jefe_ , you’re alive.”

That seemed to sober the wraith, make him drop his smile, “Hardly,”

“Then how…?”

Gabriel growled, sounding inhuman (and Jesse realized that perhaps he was), “Ask Dr. Ziegler. But then again, she won’t tell,” he turned his attention back to the cowboy, a frown prominent on his monstrous features. “I died, Overwatch fucked me over and brought me back.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were alive? I could’a--”

“Helped me?” Gabriel sneered, “You left me there. You _let_ me die in Switzerland.”

Jesse felt as if all of his nightmares were being played out right in front of him, crawling on his back like sneering demons and strange, evil creatures. “Please, no, I didn’t--!”

“You’re no better than the rest of them. And now you’re going to join back up? Hope it’s like the good ol’ days? It won’t be the same, _cabrón_ , and you know it.”

Jesse guiltily tried to shove his phone under his pillow to dull the light of the Overwatch symbol, to cast the room in darkness so his captain wouldn’t see the tears on his cheeks or the blood dripping from his lip from biting it too hard. With the loss of light came the quiet.

Gabriel stood in the doorway, staring down at the now-grown Jesse McCree and wishing it could have played out better. Imagining if he had become Strike-Commander rather than Jack, if the cowboy had stayed. How would that have changed things? Would he have been a better mentor? A better father? He had signed the papers, he had adopted the boy, but did that mean anything? Desperately, he struggled to find the words that would bring the boy back to him, “You could join me, you know. Do mercenary work, go after Overwatch--”

“They’re my friends, Reyes.”

Jesse watched Gabriel’s fists clench, the mist thickening for one moment before pushing back into a solid form. And then Captain Reyes was gone, dissipating and flowing out of the window like he was never there, words trailing like an afterthought: “Goodbye, _hijo_ ,”

In his place was a small box, white and opaque, made of cheap, thick plastic. It glowed where the moonlight hit it. McCree leaned halfway out of bed, the temperature of the room returning to normal, and picked it up. His fingers brushed over the top, pushing away dust, rays of the moon catching on his fingers. He smiled, laid his palm flat on its top.

It was a calibration kit for prosthetics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Translations*  
> Hijo -- son  
> Jefe -- boss  
> Cabrón -- bastard
> 
> Want to send a prompt? Want to support your local fanfic author? Go to my [tumblr](http://nievia-writes.tumblr.com) and hit me up! <3

**Author's Note:**

> *Translations*  
> Cabrón -- bastard  
> Comprende -- You understand?  
> Comprendo -- I understand  
> Arroz con pollo -- chicken with rice  
> Niño -- little boy  
> Jefe -- boss
> 
> Want to send a prompt? Want to support your local fanfic author? Go to my [tumblr](http://nievia-writes.tumblr.com) and hit me up! <3


End file.
